Chapter Text
Margo wasn’t sure what was worse. Every day, seeing the man she'd loved who’d betrayed her, or seeing the shell of a man he’d become. The image of him as Lenara Catiche showed him into her office was one that was seared onto her memory; the gaunt frame, the yellow-grey complexion, the unsteadiness on his feet, the breathlessness. Decades of politicking at JSC meant she was usually fairly good at hiding her emotions; Emma had not been so circumspect when she saw Sergei later that day, and her fussing over him when he was assailed by a coughing fit had prompted a rare flash of irritation. Even though he had swiftly apologised, the uncharacteristic burst of short temper had only heightened her concerns.
As she lay in bed that night Margo had examined her reasons for the quid pro quo with Lenara. She could argue to anyone else that she wanted to work with someone she trusted, yet as far as she was concerned Sergei had taken that trust and driven a platoon of T-10 heavy armoured tanks over it. She could tell herself that she had been concerned about his wellbeing having been unable to contact him for two years, yet this was a man who had betrayed her, who could have cost her her career, her home, her freedom and perhaps, had she given Peter Strauss an unequivocal ‘no’ that night in London, her life. So why then had she insisted she would only help with the provision of equipment and satellites on Mars if she could work with Sergei? Sleep, when it eventually came, was fitful, and punctuated by the images of him, feet scrabbling for purchase on the rug, fingers clawing at the cord being tightened around his throat.
In the days that followed he had made up spurious reasons to visit her office; Margo suspected Emma was complicit in this as he always appeared when she had some time free before her next meeting and she didn’t do her normal rigorous gatekeeping. While Emma was around nobody, not Lenara Catiche, not Richard Truly, nobody, got to waltz straight into Margo Madison’s office. Nobody, that is, except Sergei Orestovich Nikulov. That said, ‘waltzing’ was a misnomer. He was still limping, unsteady on his feet, his breathing heavy, ragged; and he would sit on the sofa outside, having come a matter of yards from the elevator, before knocking on the door and entering. That morning, however, Emma had asked him to wait; Sergei, too weary to respond, merely nodded. She had squeezed his shoulder, the first show of comfort, barring Margo’s brief touch of his hand, that he’d experienced in more than two years, then she let herself into Margo’s office.
Margo, trying to make sense of a pile of satellite photographs, didn’t look up.
‘Ma’am, might I have a word?’
‘Uh, sure, what is it?’
‘I know I am not medically qualified, but I really think Dr Nikulov needs to see someone. A doctor, I mean.’
Margo frowned. ‘I thought he was looking a bit better.’
‘I’m pretty sure he puts on an act for you, ma’am. He’s sitting outside right now because he’s exhausted having walked from the elevator, he looks clammy and he’ll have a coughing fit while he waits which he’ll try to make sure you don’t hear.’
‘Well, speak to Lenara; she’s his boss.’
Emma didn’t move.
‘Was there something else?’
‘Ms Catiche? Pardon me for speaking out of turn, ma’am, but I wouldn’t trust her to build a sandcastle if I gave her a bucket and spade and dropped her on Clearwater Beach.’
Margo blinked. ‘I’m not sure I would build one, either. So what are you saying, exactly? Do you want to take him to Urgent Care? If he’s agreeable I’m happy for you to do that, and yes, I’ll bring Lenara up to speed after you leave…’
Emma still didn’t move. ‘I don’t have the authority to sign off the costs, ma’am. Plus I’m sure he’d rather go with you, and you don't have any pressing deadlines or meetings that can't be pushed back.’
Margo opened her mouth to protest, then saw the raised eyebrow. ‘Fine,’ she muttered. Give me two minutes.’ It was hardly the best use of her time but she couldn’t exactly say that to Emma when she'd just said she would be happy for her to go. Plus she knew she was right.
Emma beamed. ‘I’ll let him know.’
‘Dr Nikulov? If you’d like to wait right there Ms Madison will be out in two ticks.’
Sergei looked puzzled but didn’t argue. When Margo duly emerged clutching her handbag he assumed she was en route to somewhere else. ‘Ah, I’m sorry, I picked…a bad time. Can I at least walk you to…to the elevator? I need to ask you about the hab proposal.’
‘Emma, you know what to do,’ then ‘Come with me,’ said Margo shortly, and she set off in the opposite direction to the elevators. Before she reached the end of the corridor she’d slowed her pace as Sergei was already lagging. She turned round just in time to see him push himself off the wall he’d clearly been leaning against; for the first time she felt a flicker of fear. Retracing her steps she put her arm around his waist, trying not to dwell on the heat radiating off him, the prominence of his hip bone, the feeling of his ribs beneath his shirt; how insubstantial he was compared to the man she’d kissed in a hotel room in London two years before. As he placed his arm around her shoulders the smile was grateful, fleeting, there was none of the usual flirtatiousness, the teasing. If he wondered where they were going, he didn’t ask; she suspected this was to save his breath, his energy as much as out of any degree of trust that she knew best. Finally they came to the service elevators, several times the size of the staff ones, and used for moving prototypes and equipment around the building. More to the point, Lenara Catiche and the babysitters wouldn’t be aware of them, and they opened directly onto the car park at the back of the building.
‘Wait here,’ she said as they emerged into the sunshine. ‘I’ll just go get the car.’
§
In Lefortovo you quickly lost all sense of time. Your watch was removed; you never saw daylight; meals were irregular or non-existent; sleep was snatched whenever possible. So Sergei had no idea for how long he’d wished to fall asleep and not wake up. Months, probably. But in recent days he’d began to think there was a genuine chance he might not survive the night. Despite the fact that he’d long wished for it, the very real possibility of death brought with it a whole new level of fear. Yet alone with Margo, out of the grasp of Catiche, out of earshot of the babysitters, utterly illogically, he felt safe. ‘May I ask where we’re going?’
Margo, concentrating on joining the interstate, didn’t immediately respond. ‘Hospital,’ she said shortly. ‘Emma’s worried about you.’
‘Emma…?’ He considered this, then nodded and lapsed into silence.
§
For the past two hours, Margo had been wondering when it might be appropriate to leave. She’d sorted the paperwork as best she could, and she’d watched Sergei, dozing on the gurney, being wheeled off for what she was assured would be a battery of tests. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave without saying goodbye. She was on the verge on going on the hunt for someone who could tell her where he was, when the young doctor (Clark?) who had carried out the initial obs came round the corner, clipboard in hand.
‘Ah, Ms Madison. We have a few preliminary results in, and I’m afraid there is some cause for concern, but I could really do with some context as to how Mr Nikulov…’
‘Doctor. Dr Nikulov.’
‘So sorry, Dr Nikulov. Yes, I could do with some context as to how he came by the injuries, and some of the bloodwork is not…typical. Are you able to shed any light on this?’
Margo grimaced. ‘I don’t know much but I’m not sure it’s appropriate for me to comment anyway. Haven’t you asked Sergei?’
The doctor flicked to the last page on the clipboard. ‘Margo Madison, yes? He’s named you as next of kin and he did say that he’s happy for us to discuss his results with you. He’s currently asleep and I’d rather not disturb him.’
Her initial disquiet faded as she realised there was no point in his nominating any of his family. Apart from anything else, language and time zone differences would just complicate things if decisions had to be made, and there was no point in worrying them unnecessarily. As this thought came to her she wondered if, given that Sergei had seemingly been removed from Lefortovo and placed straight on a flight to Houston, they even knew that he’d been released. But this really wasn’t her problem, and she returned her attention to the matter at hand. 'Right, well, as to context, he recently spent two years being tortured in a KGB prison. He said they didn’t break his nose or his teeth, but I got the impression that everything else was fair game.’
‘And now some of these results make sense. We’re looking at…multiple non-displaced fractures which have clearly been left to heal - ribs, collarbone, fingers, that sort of thing. He’s a touch jaundiced, anaemic, and his kidney function isn’t the best. That’ll need to be monitored every six months or so, and he’ll need to watch his salt intake and his blood pressure. Obviously he's also severely underweight. But the main concern at the moment is the double pneumonia. Frankly I’m amazed he managed to walk in here.’
Margo sat back down.
‘I’m sorry, that must be difficult to hear. Are you okay?’
She nodded. ‘How long will he be in here?’
‘From what he managed to tell us of his medical history he’s normally healthy so that will stand him in good stead. We’ve got him on oxygen and IV antibiotics and hopefully within 24-48 hours we’ll begin to see some improvement; thereafter he can be released to continue his recovery at home.’ She flipped through the clipboard again. ‘Where is that? We don’t seem to have an address.’
‘He’s staying in a hotel. The Hyatt, I think.’
‘Not terribly keen on that, to be honest. But that’s a discussion for later in the week.’
‘Right. I really need to get back to work; can you tell him I said goodbye?’
‘Will do. Thank you for your help.’ Dr Clark nodded and moved off.
Margo sagged against the back of the chair, trying to process what she’d just heard, the stark realisation of what Sergei must have gone through. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she now had to deal with Lenara Catiche.